Chapter 2: A Bargain with Shadows

The silence between them was heavier than the chains that bound him.

Elara stood only a few feet away, lantern light flickering across his scarred face. The iron shackles glowed faintly with runes, their magic pulsing like veins of fire. She had seen cursed wounds before, but never bindings so intricate, so cruel. Whoever had carved those symbols meant for him to suffer, not merely to be restrained.

“You should leave,” he said at last, voice low, dangerous. “Every second you stand here tempts fate. Don’t mistake my silence for mercy.”

But Elara did not move. She noticed the tremor in his arms, the faint rasp in his breath. He was not speaking as a threat—he was warning her. Protecting her, even as his crimson eyes tried to push her away.

“You don’t want me here,” she murmured, lowering her lantern. “But if that were true, you wouldn’t have spoken at all.”

The chain rattled sharply as he jerked against it, anger sparking in his gaze. “You’re a fool.”

“Maybe,” she admitted softly. “But even fools can tell when someone is in pain.”

For a moment, his expression cracked. Just a flicker—the tightening of his jaw, the slight tremble of his lips—but she caught it. Then, just as quickly, it was gone.

He leaned back against the altar, eyes narrowing. “What do you want from me?”

Elara hesitated. The truth felt fragile on her tongue. *What do I want?* She had told herself it was curiosity, the need to see whether the legends were true. But standing here, staring into those crimson eyes, she realized it was more. She wanted to understand. To see him as he was, not as the world claimed him to be.

“I want the truth,” she said finally. “Not the priests’ stories. Not the kings’ warnings. Just yours.”

The Dark Prince’s laugh was cold, but there was no joy in it. “The truth? No one wants the truth. They only want their fears confirmed.”

“Then prove them wrong.”

His gaze sharpened. He studied her, as though trying to pierce her soul. Minutes passed in silence, broken only by the wind whistling through the cracks in the temple. Finally, he spoke.

“My name is Kaelith.”

Elara’s breath caught. The villagers never used his name; they called him only *the cursed one*, *the monster prince*, *the child of ruin*. Hearing it now was like finding a fragment of a forgotten song.

“Kaelith,” she repeated, as if tasting the weight of it.

His lips twitched, almost in surprise. Then his tone hardened. “If you truly want the truth, healer, then you must pay the price.”

Her brow furrowed. “What price?”

He leaned forward, chains clinking, his voice a whisper edged with steel. “A bargain. You give me something I want, and I’ll give you my story.”

Elara’s pulse quickened. She should refuse. She should turn and run back to her quiet life, away from crimson eyes and cursed chains. But instead, she asked, “And what is it that you want?”

Kaelith’s gaze burned into hers, unflinching, merciless.

“Your promise,” he said. “That you won’t abandon me. Not when the truth is uglier than the lies.”

Elara’s breath trembled. His words felt like a chain wrapping around her own heart. To stay meant risking everything—her safety, her reputation, even her soul. Yet as she looked at him, at the man the world had forsaken, she felt something undeniable rise within her.

Compassion.

“I promise,” she whispered.

The temple fell silent again, but this time it was not heavy. It was binding. A vow had been made.

Kaelith leaned back, closing his eyes briefly, as though tasting freedom for the first time in years.

“Then, Elara Veylen,” he murmured, his voice softer now, almost human, “let me tell you how villains are made.”

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